Several months ago I attended the NYC Arts in Education Roundtable Face to Face Conference. I looked forward to this conference all year, because I knew I would be in the company of fellow arts educators (and selfishly around my former colleagues who I still miss). (There I am in an art workshop led by the education team at the Queens Museum of Art.) The conference plenary session was titled The Arts and Early Childhood Education, which is a timely topic given the NYC new universal pre-k. While PJ isn’t quite ready for pre-k, I listened, trying to soak up any information I could. Eventually, I noticed my mind wandering to this question:
How has my experience as an arts educator/administrator shaped my parenting style?
I don’t remember anything from the session after that question entered my thoughts.
First and foremost, I value the arts. All of them. Visual. Dance. Theatre. And especially music. I see art everywhere, not just in museums. I admire great design. I enjoy observing art in the theater or at a dance performance. And I love to listen to music live or on a recording. I believe that art serves a very special purpose in this world, even if I don’t have the words to explain what that purpose is. My definition of the arts centers somewhere around the idea of reflecting beauty back to us. Obviously, I love the arts as evident from my career choice. And if it’s not yet already obvious, I want to raise PJ to appreciate (and hopefully participate in) the arts. Why? I thought you’d never ask!
Flexibility to Try New Things
Some of my earliest memories are of singing, performing, learning to embroider (my big sister was learning, so obviously I wanted to also). Both my parents are creative people. Not in a formal way - neither studied an art form. That did not stop them from creating beautiful oriental rugs (mom) or creating the character of Dr. Von Speckle Bottom (dad) who entertained at parties. These early experiences with my parents’ creative outlets gave me aspirations to try new things and stretch myself.
As I’ve grown older, I have come to recognize this as flexibility, a willingness to try, and - John’s favorite rule from improv - say “Yes, and….” Tina Fey and Rachel Dratch both describe this better than I ever can in their respective memoirs. But here goes - When improvising a scene, always say, “Yes, and…” If your fellow improviser/actor/comedian/partner says, “Can you believe the rain today?” Respond with something like, “Yes, and the thunder is so loud…” It helps to move the story forward. The alternative is saying no and stopping the forward motion of the scene, and essentially communicating, “Your idea is no good, my idea is better, I’m more important…” John and I wrote “Yes, and…” into our wedding vows.
As an elementary age student, my family was very involved with the Boy Scouts. I spent the summers attending the day camp which my mom was the director of (I was a member of the Pixies, the daughters of the moms who worked camp). We made crafts. We performed skits. We learned hundreds of songs. All of this was just what we did. It wasn’t because it was educational, although sometimes it was. It was fun. It was a chance to do new things. To play.
Those general art experiences set me up for a lifetime of trying new things - performing, crafting, creating. While I studied music formally in college, have had the chance to perform professionally, worked with professional artists on a variety of cool projects, and consider myself an artist, I know there will always be someone doing these same things in a more formal capacity - creating art for museums, practicing for the concert stage, writing the next Pulitzer Prize novel. And yet, I continue to stretch myself. Because it makes my life more enjoyable. That's what I want for PJ.
By providing opportunities to explore the arts, to be confident, to be comfortable being silly in front of a group of kids, to dance when she feels the need, and to write poetry. I learned this from my parents, developed flexibility through my training, and want to share it with her.
Creative Problem Solving
Another skill I learned from the arts is creative problem solving. As a student trying to master an aria for one of my juries, I would not have called it that. I would have referred to the process as practicing. It would be years before I would come to recognize this process for what it was - solving a problem. In the case of my singing, the problem was memorizing the music and words, along with giving an artistic performance using the best vocal technique possible. The way I memorize music works for me. No two people learn the same way, so the exercises I used were individualized for me. One of the greatest skills a teacher can possess is the ability to be able to identify how best to communicate with each student. You have to be able to reflect on what you are doing (or not) and make adjustments. It's basic problem solving. And the great thing is there is no right answer to how you approach the problem.
This reminds me of PJ and of all toddlers. As she explores her world and tries to figure out problems (How do I open this? Where is Bunny? How do I put my shoes on?), there is no one right way to solve her predicament. *This does not mean there is not a more efficient way that John and I can assist with, nor does it mean that we are always so patient... She will figure it out, the way she is meant to. As her parent, it’s my job to get out of the way and let her do it. To step aside, be patient, and encourage her to figure it out. During the process, she might learn something else. And more importantly, she will learn to persist, to make mistakes, maybe even fail (GASP!), and continue to try again. And that’s where she will grow and develop the most.
It’s not easy for parents (and teachers) to get out of the way for this learning to happen. But I do my best.
Community
Several years ago, a report released by Chorus America brought to light information choral singers already know - we are community minded. This is not surprising given the type of music we perform. A choir will meet regularly (weekly in my most recent experiences, or even daily in the case of my college experience) to rehearse as a group. There are four main groups of singers (Sopranos, Altos, Tenors and Basses) and there may be some divisions of these groups (Soprano I, Soprano II, Alto I, Alto II, etc.). We rehearse as a group. We learn the music as a group. We aim to blend our voices so there is a unified sound. We are part of a community.
In college, it is easy to feel part of a community. Remember leaving notes on the whiteboard of your friends’ rooms (pre-cell phone obviously)? Afterwards, it takes effort. I was warned by a wise alumnus to find a choir after graduation. She said, “You will need it. You will miss it.” And I did. I felt a loneliness that was/is only filled by music being sung by a choir.
2010 was a year to remember. John and I were planning our wedding. I was working on having an article published in a book. And I had the opportunity to join a choir, something I had been meaning to do, but was having a hard time finding the time and finding the right group to join. A well-meaning colleague advised against joining the choir, citing all of my other obligations. Yet that night, when I went to audition and heard the choir sing, I knew it was the right thing to do. I needed to sing, as much as I needed to be surrounded with others who love to sing.
Parenting, for me, is much like singing. Both John and I recognize we are part of a community, a club now. And I thrive on the relationships I have developed from being a mom, sharing my experiences, and learning from others. This blog is evidence of that.
There is also a sense of community in my neighborhood. There is Tommy from across the street with the black dog named Phoenix. And the gas station attendant we pass each day. And there are all the kids (and parents) at daycare and at the park. NYC is a much smaller place with this community. I’ve been in this neighborhood for 8 years, and it wasn’t until PJ was part of our lives that we really started to invest in our life here. I remember the sense of community I felt growing up. And now I know that PJ does too.
Understanding My World
The last (for now) artistic benefit that has shaped my parenting style is how the arts have helped me make sense of this world. I don’t know how to say that without being wordy. Let me try to explain.
One of the traits exhibited by all artists is reflection. Artists constantly look back at their work and find ways to improve. They also use life as inspiration to create, reflecting what they experience into something entirely different. For me, art helps me process my own experiences. In moments of joy, in hours of darkness, music has helped me understand my emotions.
I think back to my birth story and know that music helped me stay strong and focused during labor. And the first song I heard after PJ was born will forever be linked to her. Or when faced with death, how Brahms gave me strength to carry on, finding peace in the knowledge that the final resting place, is indeed lovely.
And while these particular moments are profound and carry deep meaning for me, PJ’s experience with music is very different. For now, she is learning her routines through the songs that we sing and accompany her every day activities, like the catchy ditties “It’s Bathtime” or “PJ Time for PJ.” And you can’t forget the other classics like “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” “Old MacDonald,” and “Itsy Bitsy Spider,” all of which have helped her learn new words, patterns and how to express herself.
Come the end of a long day, PJ and I often snuggle and I sting to her. Sometimes it’s a version of “Dirait-on” with made up words. Most nights, I sing to her “In the Bleak Midwinter.” I’m not sure why. It’s a tune I’ve always loved. And I remember singing it that first summer when she was just a few months old. Perhaps it was wishful thinking that the room would be cold enough to sleep comfortably. Now I ask her sometimes as we are snuggling, “Should I sing In the Bleak Midwinter?” and I feel her nod against my shoulder. This is the song that brings her comfort. This tune has meaning for her.
When I read Willa Cather’s “A Wagner Matinee” in high school, I remember crying. I knew my life would be in the arts. It was a calling that can only be compared to my calling to be a mom. My life in music has opened me up to many fascinating opportunities, both to make music and to observe art in the world. Because of that, I have been changed for the better. If I can call upon these experiences to help PJ understand her world and grow to be the best person she can be, I will know I have done my best.
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